


The Sky Won't Snow

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: Divorce, M/M, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>608 Episode Reaction. The anti-fluff post-wedding fic. They're married. Then there's what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Won't Snow

It’s not perfect, as wedding days go. It’s not what he would have chosen, not what he had planned, before everything fell apart. It doesn’t tally with the desires he had a little over half a year ago, when he had been planning for Labor Day, which had sailed past silently, innocuously, even, as he’d put on his best smile and tried very hard to pretend it was just another holiday and not the loss of another anniversary. Like it wasn’t some kind of cosmic celebration of his shattered dreams. Just a day. Monday September 1st, followed neatly and inevitably by Tuesday September 2nd, and every day since then, tidily stacking up until it really was just another day ticked off on the ongoing calendar. 

This day is not that day.

This day starts with Kurt picking him up, matching jackets hanging in the back of his car, all bright smile and devastating beauty, which Blaine is happy to no longer have to pretend he can’t see, is happy he can touch and kiss and hold onto again without fear or recrimination. Kurt, standing in his small kitchen in black suit pants that hug his hips, waiting for Blaine to finish getting ready, to grab their buttonholes from the fridge and leave. Together. As a couple. As a thing that is back on, and slowly, slowly, mending the residual cracks in his broken heart. 

This day involves his mom calling him as they drive, telling him his dad isn’t coming after all, because his dad has decided that today is the perfect day to decide he’s leaving, which leaves Blaine cold for a long minute, silent, his lips numb as he says that’s not even funny, and she says it’s not a joke, and Blaine’s eyes fill with tears even as he resolutely refuses to cry, but which fills his head all through the drive and which he doesn’t want to bog Kurt down with. Not yet. Not now. They’re going to a wedding. It’s not the right time to cripple the day with his dad’s atrocious timing.

This day is for them, together, having fun together in a way they haven’t in far too long, in a way that reminds him of everything that went wrong, of all the ways that real life got too hard and too heavy, when they forgot how to talk and how to listen, how to hear, how not to lodge all of their own insecurities against one another. It’s for them, as a couple, enjoying their friends’ wedding, happy for the brides and not thinking about the could have beens, content to be here, today, with one another, as their parents meet after four long years. 

This day is for happy tears and dreams for the future and collecting new firsts. 

This day starts with so much laughter and love, and then crashes into a wall before Brittany and Santana have exchanged their vows, when they’re corralled and hoodwinked and railroaded into a plot of someone else’s devising. And it’s not perfect, and Kurt makes a lot of noises which sound overwhelmingly familiar, overwhelmingly like no, overwhelmingly like he still thinks getting married is a future event, and maybe he’s right or at least, Blaine knows he’s not wrong - it’s fast, it’s too fast, it’s suffocatingly fast but… But they’re here, and there’s a wedding, and if Kurt asked him, he knows he wouldn’t say no. And he can’t say no when Kurt looks at him, asks him directly. He can only say he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. But - maybe yes? Maybe. 

This day, which starts with levity and laughter and the open road, ends with them looking one another in the eye and saying “I am a work in progress.” Of not saying, I will love you when the progress stalls. I will love you when it’s hard. I will love you when you don’t feel lovable. In sickness and in health. Of hoping, individually and together, that they can be the other’s prop and crutch and depository of desire and secrets and dreams and hopes. 

Kurt’s mouth against his feels like those things, on this day, the ring on his finger like all of those things, and he knows he’s not perfect, but none of them are, and they have tomorrow spanning infinite ahead of them to worry about the things that aren’t right.

*

When the dancing stops, though, and the lights have been turned off, once Blaine has his mom secure in the back seat of Burt and Carol’s car with a promise to come home first, before he goes with Kurt to wherever they’re going, once he’s unstuck her arms from around him and told her quietly that she’s better than his dad anyway and that he loves her, once almost everything is still and it’s just him and Kurt and Brittany and Santana standing in the dirt and the dust, he has time to think about what has changed. Santana kisses his cheek, leaves lipstick on his skin, her arms deceptively strong around him, and he hugs her back before she lets him go, calls to Britt and clambers into their car, their dresses rebagged in the trunk, and then it’s the two of them, and the last few guests, the lot emptying slowly of vehicles. Blaine hangs his jacket in the back of Kurt’s car again, and sits quietly as Kurt does the same. 

As they drive home - and that’s a whole conversation, because whose home, what is home now, where do they live now that they’re married? His stuff is already in boxes, moving slowly out of the apartment in runs as large as he can fit in the back of his car, and Kurt is staying with his parents, but that’s only temporary, his life isn’t in Ohio and Blaine’s life is sort of nowhere - Blaine is the first to voice it. He tries to speak and realises he’s crying, although he can’t say why. It’s a lot. It’s just - everything. The day. It’s a lot to process, and he feels like his head might explode with all of the things left unsaid. 

“I know this isn’t perfect,” he says, the words slow, thick as molasses in his mouth and heavy in the air. Kurt reaches across the space between them, grips his hand hard in his own. Blaine exhales shakily, turns his hand over and grips back, squeezes Kurt’s fingers until it almost hurts.

“No,” Kurt says, his voice blending with the song on the radio. It’s the only thing Blaine can hear regardless, through the rush of blood in his ears and over the thunderous beating of his heart.. “It’s not perfect. But it’s done.”

‘Done’. Blaine turns the word over, stares at it for a long time, keeps staring as Kurt returns his crushed fingers to the wheel, as the empty miles roar up to meet them, both of them, heading together into the darkness. ‘Done’ isn’t exactly what he had planned, what he had wanted. He’d had dreams that weren’t climbing back into a rental car with Kurt and heading back to an uncertain home. ‘Done’ feels empty, like they’ve ticked a chore from a long list. He sniffs.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. Kurt starts and glances at him, the blue of his eyes bright in the darkness. Or Blaine thinks so. Blaine thinks his eyes are beacons, that they’ve always been lighting the path.

“Sorry?” Kurt says, cants his head and furrows his eyebrows, and then resumes his vigil of watching the road rumble away beneath the car. “Don’t be. I don’t want you to be sorry, Blaine.”

Blaine chews his lip, turns his head to stare out of the window. Night time fields, passing cars, homes and street lights and intersections pass. He’s married. He’s married to Kurt. He’s married to Kurt and that good. That’s excellent. It’s everything he wants, and has always wanted. But it’s not right. It doesn’t feel quite right. It’s not theirs. It doesn’t feel like theirs, not yet.

“Are you happy?” he asks the window, and Kurt turns the radio down and then off. His hand on Blaine’s leg is gentle, and Blaine turns his head to look at him. He takes in his profile, the twist of his mouth as he smile, and Blaine feels himself wavering on the edge of a smile as well.

“Blaine, this isn’t -” He pauses, searches Blaine’s face for a long second. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I’m happy. I love you.” 

Blaine nods and blinks and presses his hands to his eyes, feels the ring on his finger against his left eyelid. He’s married. They’re married. Once it’s sunk in better, he suspects he might be sick. Maybe he’ll be sick now, get it out of the way. He takes a shaky breath and exhales slowly through his mouth, counts to six as he does so, and then does it again, exhales to eight. 

“I love you, too,” he says. That much, at least, he’s sure of.

*

“My dad’s gone,” he says, as they hit the outskirts of Lima. Kurt doesn’t say anything, and Blaine turns his head to look at him. Kurt’s knuckles are white on the wheel, and his jaw clenches, unclenches. Blaine doesn’t say anything further.

“When?” Kurt asks, as they turn onto Blaine’s street. Blaine stares at the trees, at the front doors, at the rows of neatly packaged well pointed normality. 

“Today,” he says, and checks the time. “Today.”

Neither of them say anything until they’re pulling into Blaine’s drive, and Kurt kills the engine. The ring on Blaine’s finger feels heavy, his eyelids heavier, the weight of the world pulling at him. Kurt reaches for his hand again, squeezes, and Blaine turns his head, smiles. 

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks, softly, and Blaine shakes his head, doesn’t know. Still thinks he might throw up if he stands in the same place for too long.

“Stay here,” he says. “I just need to make sure Mom’s okay. Then we’ll go -”

He doesn’t know where. It’s their wedding night. He’s married. He’s married, and he’s going to cry, he can feel it welling up, closing his throat, choking him. He knows he’s made the right decision today, though, when Kurt leans across the car and pulls him into a hug, his hands warm and familiar, comfortable on his spine. He buries his face in Kurt’s throat, hugs him back, and knows that this time, this time Kurt won’t let him go. He’s not his dad. 

“I love you,” he says, as he pulls away, and Kurt smiles.

“I love you. Let me help.”

Blaine can’t tell him no, doesn’t want to tell him no, never wants to tell him no ever again. Wants to open up his heart and his love again, and let Kurt in. Kurt’s fingers are gentle on his face, his thumbs tender as they stroke away stray tears. 

It’s a mess, and it’s not perfect, and it’s not what he would have planned, and he’s not thinking about how much of his own need to prove that love exists rests on its occasional absences. Because Kurt is here. Kurt came back. Kurt loves him. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s okay.


End file.
